Mask
by AkumaStrife
Summary: Russia would be seen as naive and harmless, if it weren't for the blood stains. Russia/Baltic Trio


_He knew it was pointless. Running just made things worse for himself; but he couldn't help it sometimes. It was an instinctual reaction._

_But the action only filled his captor with glee, almost drunk on the thrill of the chase; only increased the pain he would receive once he was caught. __Once__, not if. There was never any doubt whether the tall Russian would eventually overtake him, usually armed with some household appliance. It was inevitable; he always caught them. No matter how fast they ran, how far, how well they hid. _

_There was no getting away from him. _

_The expected pain flared in the back of his head all too soon, bright lights of faux salvation twinkling around his vision. He didn't remember falling, but it didn't surprise him that he did. He was forced by his position on the beautiful hardwood floor to look up at the smiling man. Smiling so cheerfully and innocently, eyes sparkling with delight and amusement. Smiling down on him so sweetly, the image ruined by the glow of punishment in those bright eyes and the devil's tongue snaking up the water faucet pipe to sample the flecks of blood sticking to the metal. _

_There was no escape for them. They were doomed to reside in this god-forsaken house for the rest of their existence; their life destined to be jerked around at their master's leisure, for his own entertainment_

**Russia was late. The Allies meeting was supposed to have started an hour ago, but no one said a thing. They continued on with their trivial conversations, ones that usually escalated into something quite animated. They bashed anyone not in the room, made plans, drew pictures that lacked any real talent, but didn't say a thing about their missing comrade.**

"_P-please stop…don't touch me…!" the petite nation was trembling almost as violently as his resolve. _

"_You'll become one with Mother Russia, da?" _

"_No!" Small hands pushed against the immovable force, cold and unyielding, keeping him captive._

"_No? You don't want my love?" Bands of steel posing as human fingers gripped suddenly, crushing the too soft flesh in his relentless grasp. The innocent pout of childish confusion clashed frighteningly with the actions made against the smaller nation._

"_Wait, that's n-not what I…please d-don't hurt m-me!" choked sobs laced the pleas; the overwhelming desire to avoid more pain overcame the wish to be free, "I'm s-sorry, I never meant to offend you...just please d-don't hurt me! I'll promise to be…t-to be…I'll be good!"_

_Violet eyes flashed with something like malicious intent and victory, a wide smirk stretching the child-like face, "Prove it."_

**"Sorry for being late," Russia calmly walked through the door, offering his apology. He looked content and happy, smiling warmly with little malice. His innocent bliss made it seem like he had just come back from rescuing some stray kittens, or defending a helpless old man. But that was not the case, and it never would be.**

_He couldn't see very well, what with his glasses being in twenty different pieces somewhere across the room. But it was okay, he didn't mind, it only helped him forget. _

_He gritted his teeth, wishing his eyes would close just as tightly, trying to distance himself from it. He tried very hard to ignore the flaring pain; the pain that was now dulling to a sharp ache. Refusing to meet the hungry violet gaze above him he focused on the dark metallic stains on the bed sheets instead, none of them belonging to him._

_He took his 'punishment' with little resistance, but still fought enough, knowing how much the faux innocent giant hated things to be too easy and not cater to his twisted sense of amusement. _

_He took it, knowing that if it wasn't him, then it was one of the other two._

**Russia took his proper seat, continuing to smile as purely as any uncorrupted child. The other four forced smiles and waved his tardiness away as if it was nothing and they never even noticed; all politely ignoring the red hand prints adorning Russia's scarf, looking past the still wet crimson splatter on his left cheek, pretending not be wary of the dented water faucet he still gripped tightly.**


End file.
